The Curse of the Succubus
Copyright© 2011 by BobRooney
Chapter 4: The Curse of the hair
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 4: The Curse of the hair - A highwayman finds himself as the victim when he tries to hold up the carriage of a beautiful and deadly demon.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Reluctant Rape Mind Control Magic Heterosexual Fiction BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation
My legs shook. I felt weak, drained, defeated. I had nothing left to fight with. I kept my eyes on the ground, averted from the demon woman who had twice made me waste my seed. She had feasted on my pain.
"I like this one," she said, probably to the driver. I did not look up.
"Maybe I shall take him with me and release you?"
Only silence greeted those words.
Then the woman laughed. "I bet you would like that, my dear! But no ... Your soul has belonged to me for so many generations now, and I have gotten so very used to you. I'm afraid you will have to serve me through yet more ages, my love."
There was more silence, and then I heard rough sobs. The driver was crying, he was actually weeping! I did not dare look up from the spot where my eyes had rested these last minutes.
"Don't be sad," she laughed. "I have fed well on this one! I will not need to use you for a week, at least. You have not had that much rest for many a day now, have you?"
Somehow I had the feeling that having an arrow in his guts was the least of the driver's worries. I just hoped and prayed that my ordeal was over, that I at least would be allowed to go.
"There are," said her soft, yet evil, voice in my ear and I knew that there was still torment to come, "things even more beautiful than having a woman call you by your true nature, or even seeing her wearing a lovely garment. Do you know what I am talking about?"
I stood stock still. I understood the game now, and did not not want to play it anymore.
"Her hair," she breathed. "Her long, shining, smooth hair. Don't you agree? The poor man you just shot agrees with me. One touch of my hair and he is down on his belly, crawling wherever I send him."
As she was speaking she had slowly moved herself in a position where the top of her head was just in front of my face. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at her, but from her blonde hair came scents wafting through my nose and into my brain.
At first it smelled like flowers, like fruits, like mild spices, like the perfumes the rich ladies of the cities spray themselves with. I tried breathing only with my mouth, but the scent would not let itself be shut out.
I was reminded now of heady wines that would confuse and dull me. Then of drugs I had taken when I was younger, drugs that addled my brain and made me weak and insane. That is, if wine or drugs were mixed with the promise of female loveliness and of pleasure.
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